


Come Back and Haunt Me

by madmadeleine



Series: the return [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach, Reunions, Season/Series 03, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:11:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmadeleine/pseuds/madmadeleine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been three years and twenty one days since The Fall. John Watson was finally over Sherlock Holmes. He should have known it was too good to last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back and Haunt Me

**Author's Note:**

> written for ughbenedict and wolfflock's joint fic prompt after the Series Three preview aired.

 

He sits across from Mary. They are laughing, talking. She touches his arm, he smiles. All the while, inside his left pocket, he fingers a velvet box. She whispers in his ear, “I’m going to use the powder room,” and he is still smiling after she’s left. He loves her. He could be happy with this woman for the rest of his life.

It has been three years and twenty-one days since The Fall, and John Watson has finally gotten over Sherlock Holmes.

Mary returns, and John’s smile grows wider as he begins to pull out the box from his pocket.

 

And then he sees it.

A man, standing in the doorway of the restaurant. That bloody dramatic coat swishing around his ankles. His eyes filling with tears of bitter joy.

 

Somewhere, a thousand miles away, Mary asks him what’s wrong. Vaguely, he notices that he is standing up. The box has dropped to the floor, the chair has fallen backwards. He takes one step, another. He’s not sure whether to smile or cry.

He settles for both as he begins to sprint towards the door, scattering tables and waiters in his wake.

_Sherlock, it’s him, it’s really him, how, how did he do this, why did he do this?_

_Why did he do this to me?_

“Hello, John,” Sherlock says.

_That’s it? Three bloody years, and all you say is ‘Hello’?_

Mary is at John’s elbow, and quietly whispers, “I’m going to step outside.”

Sadness has been replaced by elation has been replaced by anger, and all that can force itself out of his mouth is, “No.”

“No?” Sherlock seems confused.

“You don’t just walk out and come back three years later with no more than a ‘hello’. That’s not how it works, Sherlock. I’m going to go find Mary.”

“John, I was trying to protect-”

He turns on his heel and leaves Sherlock standing there, mouth frozen with protestations that are no longer relevant. He can sense Sherlock walking behind him, trying to catch up, trying to say more.

He doesn’t care.

 

A small part of him finds this funny, actually. He spent a year seeing Sherlock on every street corner, running up to men in long black coats and then choking on fevered expressions of happiness and inevitable disappointment.

But that was two long years ago. Now that the real Sherlock is standing in front of him, he finds himself wishing that Sherlock was in that empty grave.

 

Mary is calmly waiting outside. Her face changes when she sees that John is alone.

“Darling, that’s Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yes.” _Yes, it’s bloody Sherlock Holmes. Let’s go home. Please._

“You have to talk to him, John. You have to deal with this.”

_No, I don’t, and no, I won’t._

 

But Sherlock is right behind him, and Mary isn’t budging, and it’s all happening at once, and oh God why does this have to be his life?

Sherlock is talking again. “John, I am sorry. I am so sorry. I had no idea my return would do this to you, I apologize, I would never have done it if-”

 

Once more, John cuts him off, but this time it’s with a punch to the face. And another, and another. Mary’s cry of ‘John! Stop!’ echoes in his ears, but he ignores her. Sherlock, however, neatly dodges the fourth punch and grabs him by the shoulders.

“I deserve every punch you throw at me, John,” he says, quietly. _I have never seen him so humble_ , John thinks, and stops struggling.

“We could talk at great length about my reasons for what I did, but it is cold and wet, and Miss Morstan has no umbrella.”

John smiles, in spite of himself, and then remembers to be angry again.

“What I did was to protect you. I intended to give you some sort of sign, but it proved to be too dangerous- any sign you could comprehend would, of course, also be immediately  comprehended by the criminal world, and it was crucial that they be kept in the dark.” _Ah, the return of the subtle insult._

“I owe you a lifetime of apologies. I never thought you would be so affected.”

 

Out of the blue, Sherlock’s arms wrap around his body, and John begins to cry. He has not cried for this man in two years. He never thought he would again.

His legs buckle under him, pulling the two of them to the restaurant steps.

“Sherlock,” he whispers into the man’s shoulder. It is all he can say. It is all he needs to say. Sherlock holds him, Mary joins them on the steps, and they remain for what feels simultaneously like an age and like no time at all.

 

Finally, John rises, and Mary and Sherlock rise with him. For the first time, Sherlock and Mary face each other.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Mary says, smiling. “I’m Mary Morstan, but it sounds like you already know that. I assume you’re Mr. Holmes?”

“Sherlock, please.” Sherlock smiles pleasantly as he shakes her hand.

 

He whispers, “Thank you for John” into her ear. She smiles, as if to say ‘it was no trouble.’ 

 

He remembers the ring, and finds it in his right pocket. Mary must have slipped it in there.

Another time, then.

“Shall we head home?” he says, and Mary and Sherlock say “Yes” simultaneously.

“I was talking to Mary,” John says. His voice is colder than he intended.

He hasn’t forgiven Sherlock, not just yet. Mary puts her arm through his, and the two begin the walk home, leaving Sherlock behind them, for now if not forever.


End file.
